The Last First Time

by Andrea Bramhall

“You ever think of giving up?” she whispered into the dissonance of clinking glasses, a crackling jukebox, and angry voices.

  “Every damn day.” Timmons spread his arms across the back of the bench.

  “Why don’t you?”

  “Because then I remember that there’s only me who can do the things I can. And if I don’t do ’em, no fucker else will.”

  She stared at him and tried to decipher the deeper meaning behind the words. He wasn’t arrogant enough to believe he alone could save the world. But the brandy was beginning to set in, and it was making thinking harder than it should be.

  “I’m not a religious man,” he continued. “But I do believe that we all have something to offer. Some talent we can use to make something better. A purpose.” He drank the last of his brandy and slammed the glass back on the table. “I was a shit husband and a godawful father, so I don’t believe that’s why I’m here. But I do believe I make a difference. I believe I’ve helped put some very bad people behind bars so they can’t do a lot of very bad things to anyone else.” He looked at each of them in turn, his gaze landing on Kate last and staying there. “Every one of you has a gift for doing the same thing. Every one of you sees different things and brings unique talents to the table, and together you solve crimes.” He pointed at Kate. “If you hadn’t wondered about the remote bomb thing and warned everyone, at least four more people would have died yesterday.”

  “But four people did die.”

  “Four is less than eight.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. You did the best you could. I didn’t think of that. Collier didn’t, Jackson, Brown, Dalton, Palmer… They’re all—were all—experienced officers, and not a single one of them thought of it. And if they did, they did nothing about it. Mallam could’ve done more. But he didn’t. And he’s got to live with that.

  “I agree with you. He could’ve made a play there that would’ve warned people without risking his cover. All he had to do was what you did, just earlier. You and Stella together got the evidence we needed to get us some semblance of answers and stop us chasing our tails for God knows how long. Stopped us from wasting resources we don’t have to spare, man hours we can ill afford, and fuck knows what else.” He reached for his drink and frowned at the empty glass.

  Tom reached over and topped it up.

  Timmons nodded at him.

  “Every one of you has worked damn hard on this case, fuck, on every case you’ve worked on, and I’m fucking proud to have you on my team.” He held his drink aloft. “To resolved cases, no matter how dissatisfying.”

  They held up their drinks. The soft tinkle of glass filled the air, and as they began to lower them, Kate added, “To Gareth.”

  They all paused a moment.

  “To Gareth.”

  Chapter 27

  Kate popped two tablets from the blister pack she kept in the glove box in her car and chugged them down with water from the bottle, then popped a third, just for good measure. Even after a day filled with nothing but paperwork, her head was still aching from the amount of brandy she’d used to numb herself last night.

  “You okay?” Gina asked.

  Kate nodded. “I just don’t normally drink that much.”

  “Rough night?”

  Gina had been fast asleep by the time Kate had stumbled home. Seeing her, even in slumber, had done much to quiet the uneasy feeling in the pit of Kate’s stomach. The anticlimactic conclusion to such an explosive investigation still sat awkwardly on her shoulders. She kept waiting for the rest of…something. There were still so many questions that burned. How could they be sure that Mallam was still trustworthy? How could they know he hadn’t turned into the terrorist he was supposedly pretending to be? How could he look himself in the mirror, knowing he could have saved those people but he didn’t? Maybe he couldn’t. And she was never going to find out those answers. She was never going to know anything more than she did right now, because they’d been told to back off, to let sleeping dogs lie, and to never mention the bastard again.

  It wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t good enough for Kate, and it was never going to be good enough for the families of those who died. Not that they would get to know anything like what she did. No one who hadn’t stood inside that office last night ever truly would. And Kate wasn’t sure if she could carry that.

  “Sorry.”

  Gina took her hand. “No need.” She lifted Kate’s hand to her lips and kissed her knuckles. “You sure you still want to do this?”

  Kate nodded. She wanted to forget about work for a while. She needed to figure out how she could let this go, or it was going to start eating her alive. There were too many emotions swirling in her guts. “I’m just happy to spend the evening with you.” It was the truth. But like so many things, it wasn’t the whole truth. “Have I told you how beautiful you look?”

  Gina smiled. “Once or twice.”

  “Only once or twice! God, I’m such a bad girlfriend.” She grabbed Gina’s hand and kissed the back of it, letting her gaze wander over the form-fitting blue dress Gina had chosen for the evening. Long-sleeved and falling just below the knee with a modest V-shaped neckline, it was a classically beautiful dress that highlighted Gina’s slim body and the deep blue of her eyes without exposing her. “You look stunning.”

  Gina blushed and whispered, “Thanks. So do you.” She ran her fingers down the green blouse Kate had pulled out of the wardrobe to pair with her black slacks and leather jacket. “I love it when you wear that jacket.” She fingered the collar, straightening it to lie flat against her collarbone before she climbed out of the car.

  Kate followed her, forcing a smile to her lips as she packed her concerns into a box and shoved it onto a shelf in the back of her head, swiftly labelling it Do Not Open—Ever before she caught up to Gina and took hold of her hand.

  Morston Hall was a large restaurant and hotel, surrounded by immaculate lawns and beautiful flowers, the scent of lavender and herbs tantalising the nose as they walked up the gravel path. It was a pity they couldn’t really see them in the dark. The lighting along the path and scattered amongst the trees did little to drive back the night, but twinkled prettily against the clean, white snow that covered the expansive lawns. The flint and lime style of the hall, so typical of the area, was heavily shadowed. The restaurant itself was visible through the glass windows of the huge conservatory-style extension that had been added to the old hall. The starched white tablecloths and polished silverware indicated the level of establishment George Boyne had picked for this meeting.

  “Well, this is about as far out of my price range as those glasses are from the grains of sand on the beach,” Gina muttered, nerves jangling on every chord of her voice.

  “Morston Hall,” Kate replied. “Just screams posh, doesn’t it?”

  Gina slapped her belly. “Behave.” She craned her neck to get a better look inside. “I’m nervous.”

  “About what?”

  “Walking into this fancy place. Meeting him. Telling him Pat’s dead. Giving him the letter. Not liking the fancy food. Worrying I’ll make a fool of myself.”

  “Ah, so not much, really.”

  Gina shot her a sardonic look.

  “Want me to handle the letter and tell him about Pat? I can’t do too much about you embarrassing yourself, not liking the food, or the meeting him bits. Unless you want to go home.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “Sure.” Kate fished the car keys out of her pocket. “Home’s just half an hour away.”

  “I meant telling him the horrible bits.”

  Kate winked. “I know. And yes. Unfortunately, this won’t be the first time I’ve delivered bad news to a stranger.”

  Gina looked at her with such an open expression it took Kate’s breath away. There was something so tender and vulnerable in her gaze, yet something a little lustful too. Kate’s heart beat a little faster.

  “Do you think he’s already in there?” Gina ask
ed, breaking the moment.

  Probably a good thing, Kate decided. She wasn’t entirely sure how the staff would react to them snogging in front of the main doors.

  “Only one way to find out.” Kate pushed the door open and led Gina inside with one hand on her lower back. She loved the way it felt to be able to touch Gina like this, freely, without her recoiling at such a simple, innocent touch. She’d come a long way in a short time since she’d begun working with Jodi. Kate smiled, proud of Gina’s hard work, as a waiter came to meet them.

  “Good evening. Do you have a reservation?” he asked with a tiny bow that tilted his body forward only a few degrees. His white shirt, starched to within an inch of its life, was tucked into black trousers, a skinny black tie hung around his neck, and an air of privilege most unbecoming to waitstaff hung around him like a bad smell. Posh restaurant, it might be… Buckingham Palace, it was not.

  “We’re here to meet Mr Boyne. George Boyne. Has he arrived yet?”

  “I have just this moment shown him to your table.” He sounded as though he was trying not to inhale too deeply. His voice coming from high in the back of his throat, making it sound pinched and a little like he was talking through a harmonica. Reedy. It was the only way she could think to describe it. Thin and reedy, like an oboe talking. “If you’ll follow me, please.” He waved his arm before him like a magician showing them a trick.

  Well, Kate supposed, the floors were spectacularly clean. The table he took them to was in the far left-hand corner of the room. There were two empty chairs at the table and a man already seated. He had a glass of liquor in front of him and held a small square of paper in his hand.

  George Boyne was a thin, wiry sort of chap with a shock of thick, steel-grey hair that had probably once been dark. He stood when he saw them approach the table and held out his hand. Eyes a startling shade of blue, like the Aegean Sea sparkling in the midday sun, watched them with amusement.

  “George Boyne.” His grip was firm and strong, as was his voice.

  “Kate Brannon.” She shook his hand and ushered Gina forward with her other hand.

  “You must be Gina Temple, then.”

  “Yes.” Gina shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “A pleasure. Please, sit.” He indicated the chairs, and the waiter eased the chair in behind Gina as Kate quickly pulled her own in for herself.

  “May I get you something to drink?” the waiter asked.

  Gina ordered a glass of wine and Kate asked for water. She wanted to have her wits about her for whatever Gina might need. Besides, one of them needed to be able to drive, and she didn’t need anything to add to her lingering hangover.

  “So, you knew my Patricia, hey?” He was smiling, but his eyes were watching Gina. Studying her, like he was trying to get inside her head.

  Kate couldn’t help but smile at the possessive tinge to the sentence. Even after all those years, it seemed old George still carried a little torch for the lovely Pat.

  Gina nodded. “Sort of.”

  He frowned. “I don’t understand. I thought we were here because she asked you to give me something?”

  “We are,” Gina said. “But I wouldn’t say I knew her well.”

  “Then what would you say, young lady?” George asked gruffly, leaning forward over the table, his voice a little harsh.

  “That it was her dying wish.”

  He sat back in his chair. “She’s dead?” His voice sounded deflated, hoarse, defeated.

  Gina nodded.

  “When? What happened to her?”

  The waiter arrived and deposited their drinks, casting curious glances across them all before leaving them to peruse the menu.

  “She was shopping in King’s Lynn on Saturday.”

  His head snapped up. “This Saturday just gone?”

  “Yes,” Kate said, when Gina didn’t respond.

  “The bomb?” He whispered. “You were there?” he asked Gina gently.

  Gina cleared her throat. “Yes. I was doing some Christmas shopping with a friend. I was with Pat when she—when she died.”

  George’s face was ashen. “And she talked about me? Then?”

  Kate pulled a copy of the photograph from her pocket. “Is this you?” She handed it to him.

  He smiled sadly and nodded, then handed her the square of paper he’d been looking at when they arrived. It looked to have been taken on the same day. The couple was wearing the same clothes in each picture, and smiling at each other.

  Kate handed it back to him. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr Boyne.”

  He shook his head. “I lost Pat a long time ago. I can’t believe she had this on her when she…when she died.” He looked back at Kate, then at Gina. “Why? Did she tell you?”

  Gina nodded to Kate, and Kate took the copied pages of the letter from her jacket pocket.

  “She wanted you to have this,” Kate said gently. “I’m sorry we had to open it but it had to be checked for evidence because of the investigation.”

  “Of course.” He took the pages.

  The waiter came over for their food order, but George just waved him away, asking for another round of drinks instead.

  “Would you like us to leave you alone?” Kate asked.

  He didn’t respond.

  Kate stood, indicating for Gina to follow her.

  “Have you read it?” he asked before they were even on their feet.

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “No need.” He lifted the page like a hand wave. “I knew about her bloody father.” He laughed bitterly. “He was the reason I met Pat in the first place.”

  Gina frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “I was Army Intelligence. Running undercover surveillance operations on IRA suspects.”

  “I thought that didn’t start until after Bloody Sunday,” Kate said.

  He nodded. “Officially. After ’72, we got our own special unit. One hundred twenty men trained by the SAS. We started as the SRU, then became the FRU in the bloody ’80s, but me and my men were doing the same thing back then. Trying to protect lives by rooting out those vicious bastards. And Paddy O’Shea was one of the worst you could ever come across.”

  “So you were using Pat?” Shock was written all over Gina’s face.

  Kate felt the same. She hadn’t spoken to Pat, but Gina had told her every moment of their interaction. She felt like she knew her. The Pat in her head was a warm, funny woman with a strong spirit, a sense of humour, and an adventurous soul. The idea of someone using her as a young girl to get to her father irked… No, it was more than that. It made her angry. Angry that men like this had so little regard for the lives of those they used, and seemingly ruined, to further their careers and catch the occasional bad man.

  She’d often wondered if they were any different to the men they were trying to stop? They both justified reprehensible actions as necessary to achieve their goals—the IRA in the name of freedom, and the army in the name of defence. The right and wrong of it all decided by the history written by the victor.

  Just like Nadia. Groomed by her father, by her friend, and by someone who should have protected her. She wouldn’t be remembered as a girl who was used by men with more power than her, but as a vicious murderer, the destroyer of lives, the bringer of death. And this man, the George that Pat had felt guilt over for so many years, had been doing the same. Just the same as Zain Mallam.

  Same story over, and over again. Just a different set of players. Will we never learn?

  He nodded. “That’s how it started, yes. I’m not proud of it, but you don’t know what we were up against. We were losing men all the bloody time because we couldn’t tell who was good and who wasn’t. They didn’t play by the rules. So we had to start making up a few new ones.”

  “I can’t believe her last thoughts were of you, and you were just using her.” Gina’s eyes were brimming with tears.

  He shook his head. “No, it wasn’t like that. I
mean, it started out that way, of course. I was trying to get close to her father. Those were my orders. It was my mission. And it was an important one. Lives were at stake, and I took my duty, my responsibilities, seriously. I knew what Paddy had already done, and I knew there was a lot more to come from that bastard. But that all changed pretty quickly. Not Paddy, or the fact that he needed to be removed from the game, but Pat changed the way I thought, the way I acted.” He smiled. “She changed everything about me, that girl did. She had a way about her.” He snorted a sad laugh. “It sounds cheesy, but she really did light up a room when she walked in. I lit up when she smiled at me and said my name in that lilting accent of hers. ‘Georgie’, she called me. ‘My Georgie’.”

  He tapped his chest. “Made my heart beat with something besides fear for a while. I was serious when I asked her to marry me. Serious when I said we should run away together. I would have done it for her. Given up everything for her. Abandoned my post, my responsibilities, my brothers in arms. Everything.” He shook his head. “And yes, I knew what I was risking in doing so. Probably better than she did.” He used his thumb to wipe away the tear in his eye. “I was a bastard, and I knew it. I had to be to fight bigger bastards than I was. Because they weren’t messing around. They’d have killed me soon as look at me, if they’d known who I was. What I was. And they’d have killed her too. They’d have never trusted her, cavorting with the enemy.” Sipping his drink, he shook his head again slowly. “As far as they were concerned, she’d have been worse than me in their eyes. I was a stupid English soldier who knew no better. She was one of them betraying her own, as far as they were concerned. It wouldn’t have mattered that she didn’t know how I was.”

  “It must have been very difficult, Mr Boyne.” Kate swallowed the recriminations on her tongue. He had enough of his own, by the sound of it, and she didn’t know what else to say. Clearly his own guilt was a much greater burden upon his soul than any words she could offer him. He was right, she hadn’t been there. She hadn’t lived that fear. Could she really judge him? Could she judge any of them? Mallam, Porter, Boyne, they knew more about what was happening in those situations than she did. More than Kate ever could or wanted to know. She had to accept that Boyne knew more about what happened back then and take him at his word that they were doing the best they could to end a war. Could she give Mallam and Porter the same consideration? Did she want to?